I CAN'T SLEEP

I don't sleep.

Can't sleep.

I lie in the massive bed in my beautiful new room and stare at the ceiling, my mind spinning in circles that go nowhere.

I'm married to Ocean Moretti.

I'm married to my ex-father-in-law.

The thought is so absurd I almost laugh. Almost. But if I start laughing, I think I might not stop. Might tip over into hysteria and never come back.

So I just lie there. Staring. Thinking about how twenty-four hours ago I thought my biggest problem was hiding bruises. And now...

Now I don't even know what my life is anymore.

Eventually, the sky outside my windows starts to lighten. Dawn. I've been awake all night.

I should get up. Should do something. But what? What am I supposed to do in this house? What are the rules here? With Ethan, I knew the rules. Make breakfast by seven-thirty. Keep the house spotless. Stay quiet. Don't upset him. Simple. Horrible, but simple.

But here? I have no idea what Ocean expects from me. A soft knock on my door makes me jump. "Lola? You awake?" A woman's voice. Hannah.

"Um. Yes."

The door opens and Hannah peeks in. She's wearing jeans and a sweater, her red hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looks... normal. Like a regular person, not someone who works for a mafia boss. "Figured you might not have slept much." She comes in carrying a tray. "Brought you some tea and toast. You need to eat something."

"I'm not really hungry..."

"Yeah, well, tough." She sets the tray down on the bedside table with a gentle firmness. "You didn't eat anything yesterday. Ocean's worried you're going to pass out."

Ocean is worried about me?

Hannah must see something in my face because she sits on the edge of the bed, careful to keep distance between us. "Hey. I know this is all... a lot. Understatement of the century, right? But you're safe here. I promise."

"Everyone keeps saying that." I finally sit up, wincing as my bruised ribs protest. "Safe. Like if you say it enough times, it'll be true."

"It is true though." Hannah's voice is gentle but firm. "Ocean doesn't make promises he can't keep. If he says you're safe, you're safe."

I want to believe her. Want to trust that this nightmare might actually have a bearable ending.

But four years with Ethan taught me better than to trust easily.

Hannah seems to sense my doubt. She doesn't push. Just gestures to the tray. "At least drink the tea? It's chamomile. Helps with... well, everything, honestly." I pick up the cup because it gives me something to do with my hands. The tea is warm, soothing. I take a small sip.

"There you go." Hannah smiles. "Baby steps."

We sit in silence for a moment. It's not uncomfortable exactly. Just... strange. I'm not used to people being kind without wanting something in return.

"So," Hannah says eventually. "Want a tour of the house? Might help to know where everything is. Plus, sitting in this room all day is going to make you stir-crazy."

"I don't... I don't want to be in the way."

"In the way of what? You're the mistress of this house now, and Ocean's at a meeting until noon. The house is huge. Trust me, you won't be in anyone's way." She stands, offering her hand. "Come on. Let me show you around."

Me? mistress....I hesitate, then take her hand. Let her pull me to my feet. She's right about the house being huge. We start on the second floor, and even just this level is bigger than Ethan's entire house.

"Your room is here," Hannah points as we walk down the wide hallway. "Ocean's room is at the end. He made sure to give you space. There's a library two doors down if you like reading. And this..." she opens a door " is basically a sitting room but no one ever uses it. Fancy furniture that's just for show."

I peek inside. It's beautiful. Elegant. Untouched.

We go downstairs. The main floor is even more impressive. Marble floors, high ceilings, artwork that probably costs more than I've ever seen in my life.

"Kitchen is through here." Hannah leads me down a hallway. "Cook makes breakfast around seven, lunch at one, dinner at seven. But if you're hungry between meals, just come grab whatever you want. Ocean's not weird about food or anything."

Ocean's not weird about food.

Such a simple statement. But it hits me that I don't even know what that means. Ethan controlled what I ate, when I ate, how much. Criticized every bite. The kitchen is massive. Professional-grade appliances, a huge island, windows overlooking gardens I didn't even know existed.

"This is incredible," I whisper.

"Right? I've been working here five years and I'm still not over it." Hannah opens the fridge. "Seriously, grab whatever you want. There's always food. Fruit, yogurt, leftovers, whatever."

She's trying so hard to make me feel comfortable. To make this feel normal. But nothing about this is normal.

"Hannah?" My voice comes out small. "What... what does Ocean expect from me? Like, what am I supposed to do here?" She turns to look at me, her expression softening. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." I struggle to find words. "With Ethan, I had to... there were things I had to do. Make his breakfast, clean the house, be available when he wanted... you know." The last part makes my stomach turn. The nights when Ethan decided he wanted to use his wife. When I had to lie there and endure it because that's what wives do.

Is that what Ocean expects? Did I escape one nightmare only to walk into another?

"Oh, honey, no." Hannah's voice is firm. She walks over, gently taking my shoulders so I have to look at her. "Ocean doesn't expect anything like that from you. This marriage is protection. That's it. He's not going to... he would never..."

"How do you know?" The question bursts out desperately. "How do you know what he wants?"

"Because I know Ocean. I've worked for him for five years. I've seen him with women before, and he's always been respectful. Always." She squeezes my shoulders gently. "And more than that, I heard him on the phone with Daniel last night. He was very clear that this marriage is to save your life. Nothing more. You have your own space, your own room. He's not going to touch you."

I want to believe her so badly it hurts.

"But... but what am I supposed to do all day? I can't just... exist here, doing nothing."

"Why not?" Hannah's smile is gentle. "For the first time in four years, you don't have to do anything. You can just... rest. Heal. Figure out who you are when you're not terrified." The concept is so foreign I can't even wrap my mind around it.

"Come on," Hannah says. "Let me show you the rest of the house. Then maybe we can sit in the garden? It's beautiful out there. Peaceful."

She leads me through the rest of the mansion. A formal dining room I can't imagine ever using. A living room with couches that look too expensive to sit on. Ocean's office, which Hannah just points to without opening the door.

"That's his private space. Don't go in there unless he invites you." But you're his wife, so I don't know

We end up in what Hannah calls the conservatory. It's a beautiful glass room filled with plants, with doors leading out to the gardens.

And that's when I see them.

Men. Lots of men. Standing around the grounds, talking into radios, watching the perimeter.

Security.

Of course. Ocean is the Capo. He'd have security everywhere.

"They won't bother you," Hannah says, noticing where I'm looking. "They're here to protect the property. Protect you too, now."

Protect me.

From what? From Ethan?

The thought sends a chill through me. Ethan is out there somewhere, furious that his father married me. Furious that I escaped.

"What if Ethan tries to..." I can't finish the sentence.

"He won't get near you. Ocean made that very clear. Anyone who touches you answers to him directly." Hannah's voice is firm. "You're the Capo's wife now, Lola. That means something in this world."

The Capo's wife.

I'm the Capo's wife.

The absurdity of it hits me again and I feel dizzy.

"Hey, you okay? You're really pale." Hannah grabs my arm, steadying me. "When's the last time you actually ate? Like really ate?"

"I don't... I don't remember."

"Okay, that's it. We're getting food in you right now." She steers me back toward the kitchen. "You're going to sit down and eat breakfast. Real breakfast. And then you're going to rest because you look like you're about to collapse."

She's bossy in a way that's somehow comforting. Like she actually cares. In the kitchen, she makes me sit at the small breakfast table while she pulls out eggs, bread, fruit. Moves around the kitchen with easy confidence.

"You don't have to..." I start.

"I want to. Besides, cooking is therapeutic. My mum taught me that." She cracks eggs into a pan. "Food fixes everything. Or at least makes it more bearable." I watch her cook, feeling useless. Feeling like I should be doing something.

But she won't let me help. Just makes me sit and drink more tea while she prepares food.

Ten minutes later, she sets a plate in front of me. Scrambled eggs, toast, fresh fruit. It looks amazing. And I can't remember the last time someone made food for me.

"Eat," Hannah commands gently. "All of it."

I pick up my fork. Take a small bite. The eggs are perfect. Fluffy and seasoned just right. Before I know it, I'm eating faster. Hungrier than I realized. I finish the entire plate.

"There we go." Hannah looks satisfied. "Feel better?"

I nod. I do feel a little better. Less shaky.

"Good. Now..."

The front door opens. Male voices in the hallway.

And I become stiff...